


Sacrilege

by iosi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Blood, Genocide, M/M, Offerings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iosi/pseuds/iosi
Summary: Extremely AU. 
The sole purpose of Viktor Nikiforov, without a doubt, is to continue to surprise all for as long as he breathes.





	1. Stall

Yuri is eight when he is invited to hold his father’s knife. It is bigger than his own, stronger, and - he hisses when it catches his thumb - much sharper. His father uses this knife to catch the small ones, and his mother cooks them into a pleasant soup. Hasetsu is kind enough to lessen their food for a day in exchange for Yuri to have a chance to place his traps in the most abundant bowl nearby. He had set his traps at dawn, and it was time to complete the entirety of a hunt by himself. His father smiles at him, and his mother teasingly holds up his food bowl. _Bring back your first dinner_ , the bowl seems to speak. Yuri nods. The fire stones dedicated to the Mother crackle heartily with the strength of a recent offering, and he feels the heat fill up his body as he steps out into the never changing ice.

It is perpetually cold in this ice prison Hasetsu is doomed in. Not just cold, but cruel; their prison rises high around them, with ice so firm it breaks any and all materials they make. It resists their existence, and so Hasetsu in turn resists it.

Yuri heads to the north. The warmth within him melts the snow before it can touch his skin. When he inhales, the foul smoke of burning coals enters his throat. They give praise to the Mother of Fire, for she is their god. She warms their hearts from the harsh winds and heats their blood. She gives the means of survival, and for that they thank her. Yuri too thanks her, even if the snow skin offered to her moments ago was his father’s gift, not his. The Mother graciously accepted the offering, for now Yuri will become a hunter of his own, and will present her with offerings separate from his family’s. Such an offering of thanks is his goal today - from capturing skins to granting her his first real hunt.

There once was a time when the people of Hasetsu earnestly tried to escape their ice prison, so the murmurs went. They do not try to escape very heartily now, but surely, this prison will be filled with children of burning love one day, and their combined heat will melt away their prison. For now, they simply wander - growing in size, surely, but their raison d’etre is the Mother. They are marked by the smell of spiraling smoke as those who live by her, for her. Grant her more. Let her grow. Love her, love her and make up for the lack of love the Mother of Ice wraps them in.

Yuri has not had a chance to wander. His path in life thus far has been a straightforward meandering. Hasetsu sticks together as they move about their prison. Their family sees the faces of all the others each day as they help prepare each day’s food. Yuri is following in his father’s footsteps, to provide themselves with food, to turn the blood of skinned prey into flamed offerings to their Mother. Yuri has no doubt that this is the path that has tentatively been laid out before him.

And although he is certain he has walked the correct path, where up ahead there will surely be prey in his traps, he cannot help but feel like he has wandered away. It’s lonely by himself. His environment, though always white, is starker than the bones from their food, and everything appears gloriously enhanced.

That might be why he noticed it.

A flash far above, something glinting in the perpetual landscape - something that catches his attention in his magnified awareness of the world.

He looks up, and

 

_eyes_

 

There is a god dancing in the cold. Eyes, unlike those in Hasetsu - not the smoldering amber of his parents or his own, not the gray charcoal of his elders - long hair, somehow flowing in the biting wind, wearing such little, skin tinged so pale, flush granting life on their face.

There is an outsider far above him, reaching where he cannot reach, movements too fast to follow, but surely that is ice that is forming around their feet. Stepping stones in the air, long trails that crumble into diamond dust and join the falling snow. The outsider is weaving through the falling snow, and unlike anything Yuri has felt before, he cannot move his eyes.

The figure is the most beautiful sight he has seen in his life. Yet, like a cruel trick from the empty love of the Mother of Ice, it disappears just as quickly as it came - a flash glistening, dimming, disappearing.

Yuri runs in circles underneath the falling sparkles of ice, all thoughts of traps and offerings gone from his mind because everything is slowly but surely turning back into an endless field of white and why can’t he pick out the diamond dust, it’s all blended together, he’s desperately grabbing the falling snow and _there,_  surely that is it but -

\- the heat roars up within him. Warmth licks his fingers, protection from the Mother of Fire. Heat to keep him burning. Love to keep him alive.

The falling snow continues to burn up before reaching his skin, his arm outstretched, hand frozen in - what is this feeling? It’s welling up inside of him, overpowering the taste of smoke in his mouth, reaching his very heart and enveloping him.

Yuri has never detested such protection in his life as he does now.


	2. Fury

He returns victorious, if one were to judge by the number of small ones in his hands and the boiling blood that coats his father’s knife. Certainly, he has become capable of offering. His family greets him with warm hugs and soft laughs. _Your eyes_ , they say, _surely an inferno is blazing in them_.

Stop.

The altar is warm to the touch, the flames amicably twining with the heat pouring off his own skin. Surely this is the Mother, crooning to him. He feels it pulling him in, wrapping his blood-splattered hands with love.

Yuri steps closer.

In his left hand is a snow skin. Its fur is cool despite the protective layer of heat, and it is as still as the ice he yanked it from. Unlike the others, it is alive. Its heartbeat is slow, oh so slow, but reverberates strongly in his hand. He can see it. This one holds the most blood within it. This one is the one he’ll offer to the Mother. The coals are dull, the fire gives soft crackles, and Yuri’s mind feels fuzzy. His senses - are dulled.

Yuri drops the snow skin into the fire.

The snow skin swells almost comically even before it hits the coals. He can feel it coming before it happens - the promise of love. Vast quantities of blood erupt into fire and pure warmth. The altar blazes with a sudden roar, and hot, smoky air blows past Yuri’s face. His eyes try to water, but dry instantly. He has seen this many times from his parents and the others - but - surely, the flames that have suddenly invaded his body are the messengers of her acceptance.

Amidst such warmth, his left hand twitches to the beat of the snow skin’s heart. At some point, he closed his eyes. Somehow, he can’t think of anything else except the feeling of an imaginary, slowing heartbeat.

(His heart, which strains to stop.)

 

Offerings are made frequently, but it isn’t until the next month that Yuri feels confident in his. After his first hunt, he no longer had sole access to the abundant bowl. His prey was caught less frequently, and their sizes were significantly less than his first offering. Such small sizes - those would not grant him answers to his questions. He could feel it, could feel the flames licking the insides of him expecting more before they set down their blood thirst and granted him guidance.

If Yuri stayed out for longer than expected, went out when surely no prey had been caught - surely, not one mentioned it. Even when he encountered the others in the bowls, no-one mentioned his eyes straining for a glint in the falling snow, rather than the movement of fuel on the ground for their fires.

But now he has a sizable offering, and once again, he stands before the altar. There’s a sense of unease - nervousness? in his chest. On his skin. In his eyes. He opens his mouth -

_Please_ , and he drops his offering into the altar. He watches with unblinking eyes as its blood joyously adds to the height of the flame, and stands still as the fire reaches towards him and begins running through him.

_I have received your love_ , the Mother murmurs. _And now I fulfill your desire_.

His throat is so dry. Fire is running through it, caressing it. He flexes clenched hands.

That god, who left behind an untouchable and crumbling trail, forbidding Yuri from following.

_Please give me a glimpse of that one. That outsider, the one I saw so high above._

 

It is not silent, no, the flames are crackling and he can clearly hear them. Hear the disapproving fire rise out of him and lunge into the altar, burning every brighter, and suddenly he smells putrid smoke. He is startled and begins coughing. Rotten smoke for an unneeded question. The Mother is enraged. This smoke is beyond scolding, and it forces his eyes shut with a burning tear. On top of the swirling flames Yuri can hear footsteps, and soon enough, a burning hand is shaking his shoulder.

_Yuri, you’ve angered the Mother_ , someone is whispering furiously. _Yuri. Yuri. Payment for angering her. Give it._

Yuri knows what they speak of. He cannot particularly tell what is going on - his mind feels like it on an endless loop, ignoring his smoke-clogged senses and the external nuisances attempting to communicate. The Mother of Fire is angry at him. His offering was appropriate. His - question? His question was not alright? The Mother of Fire did not want him following what little trail he held?

_You are not looking for warmth_ , the flames that have invaded his skull whisper. _Offer them to me. I will give you warmth. I will love you._

Despite the Mother’s words, Yuri can feel what is being asked of him. Memories of a dazzling gleam, a dancing fairy high above, an illusion he could not touch -

_Give it_ , the voice holding his shoulder commands.

_Give them,_ she urges, and Yuri begins panicking.

Those were his feelings. Feelings not sparked in Hasetsu, originating from a foreign encounter. One that enthralled him. One that left him despising the warmth that had prevented him from touching the dazzling remains of that encounter.

He doesn’t want that protection if it will destroy such memories already dear to him.

Then - what can he offer? Certainly, those flames are creeping closer to the precious image of the outsider high above.

_Give them to me,_ and the cooing has intensified. He is swaying, threatening to spin towards the icy ground, the voice is shouting at him from above, everything is burning, and he needs to appease the Mother _now_ -

Yuri barely registers the pain, so focused is he on desperately stopping the flames from eating those memories away. Then the flames suddenly retreat, and all at once, there is only pain. The thick smoke is still in his lungs, but it doesn’t stop him from screaming.

Pain. Pain. Hurts. _Mother, help me_.

He hardly registers the voice within him until it is fading away. _My love, you are the one who rejected my help_.

The pain has overtaken his body, and it is nothing like he has felt before. A chill settles within him, for the flames warming him inside have dwindled, and he breathes a huge, shaking gasp. Tears threaten to escape the corners of his eyes with no heat to dry them. In his right hand is the burning coal he slashed at his own arm with, and although his vision is fuzzy, he is certain that blood boiling with joy in the altar’s flames is his own. An apology from a misguided child to their god, yes, but a substitute for what will surely cause the Mother fury in the future. Still, the Mother is appeased for now, and she has let Yuri off with his memories intact.

Then his arm intensely throbs again, not unlike the heart of a snow skin, and he instantly squeezes his eyes shut again.

He continues coughing and screaming until the growing fuzziness at the edges of his vision overtakes him.


	3. Corner

The Mother’s dancing flames tend to linger on the fresh scar his left arm now bears. Yuri ignores the stubborn guilt in the back of his throat every time he communicates with her. He cannot repent those memories to her yet.

Repent, because surely the one he asked to see is a mortal enemy of the Mother of Fire. Yuko explains this in hushed tones as she gently treats his chilled body that has been scorned by the Mother. There is just enough flame left in it to survive in the all-encompassing cold. It goes without saying that the Mother of Ice is unloving, harsh, and unchanging; she is the task master of their prison and allows not one warmth of theirs to escape. Truthfully, it is rare for sights other than prey to be seen in this prison of theirs, but the chances that they are within the Mother of Ice’s domain is almost certain. Others not tied to the Mother of Ice exist outside of the prison, but there is no doubt that they are the sole representatives of the Mother of Fire here.

Locked inside such a prison, they are the Mother of Fire’s most devout worshipers, and Hasetsu knows this. They need her love more than any.

_S_ o, in accordance with her most loved humans, there is little sane reason why Hasetsu should communicate with the Mother of Ice at all, except to destroy her. Melt her. Envelop her in flames, and burn all of the Mother of Ice into fantastic heat. Surely, everything will rise up in a glorious flame of her love, and the melting of their prison will signal the Mother of Fire’s declaration to all the outsiders they have yet to meet.

If their cage melts, and the one in his thoughts is part of that cage, will they melt, too? Despite being enveloped in the altar’s warmth, Yuri shudders. Such are the thoughts that plague him as he stands to leave.

The warmth does not come with him.

Yuko is waiting for him when he returns to his bed. In her hands is a blanket from places unknown. It feels uncomfortable, as he has been used to sleeping with the Mother’s flames encompassing him, but it is a sorely welcomed gesture of kindness.

 

His own mother and father are not as angry as the elders, and Yuri feels a tiny bit of relief. They smile at the elders while handing out rich bowls of steaming soup, made not even a minute past, and pinched faces soften slightly as they drink it in.

_He’s yet a boy_ , his father says _. He’s still discovering what she likes and what she doesn’t_.

_That’s right_ , his mother agrees, and hands a bowl of soup to Yuri too, who meekly reaches out from underneath the blanket. His chilled hands welcome the warm relief the bowl provides, and he sits with his head lowered.

_Yuri has learned his lesson_ , his parents declare, and with beams and smiles facing them, the elders grudgingly leave, yes, he is a growing boy, do be careful Yuri, thank you for your hard work, and they toss the best of their meals into the altar as they live the Katsuki residence.

 

But perhaps Yuri hasn’t learned his lesson. They’ve slowly been migrating east, and now, the edges of their prison are within touching distance. _Yuri_ is within their touching distance, even though Hasetsu has settled far from the blockades of ice. The ice is reflecting the light from above, and Yuri frowns.

In his distracted hands is a guidance stone. The Mother of Light prefers to make her presence known in these stones, such that she is able to offer guidance to her worshippers through fierce illumination. They pray to the Mother of Light in times of fierce snowstorms, for a chance to navigate their way under the her guidance above.

There is light here, so much that it’s almost blinding.

The Mother of Light will surely listens if he asks for her guidance. He has seen her silent acceptance. If the Mother of Fire will not guide him, then he will pray to the Mother of Light instead. The prison wall in front of him is an appropriate canvas for such a request.

But this not a snowstorm, and Yuri has never communicated with her prior. If he were to do this the proper way, he would give the Mother of Light his first offering of a guidance stone at the Festival. The Festival is soon, too - once Hasetsu reaches the prison gate to the north, they will give praise to all the gods who have assisted them in this year’s journey. Their hearts will melt as one as they give thanks, a reminder that they can thank others only because of the love the Mother of Fire bestows upon them. 

Giving thanks to others without telling the Mother of Fire first - is not good.

Yuri absentmindedly kicks at the ground. Here he stands, ready to do just that. His breath is restless and all too quick. It is impossible to wait until the Festival. Week after week, his guilty memories are all he can think of. He intensely stares at the blinding ice, and he can almost imagine that fleeting god projected on it, movements flickering at the edges of his visions - solidarity just out of reach. His vision is being seared, but that phantom is just barely escaping his vision.

Yuri wants to catch up.

He tightens his group on the guidance stone, and his voice breaks the silence. _Please, Mother of Light. Listen to me._

The phantom on the ice dances on repeat. Nothing is happening, there are only his memories. Yuri is surely going blind, and if he isn’t, he will from sheer desperation.

_Please_ , he says louder. There is so much ice. There is too much ice. He’s being blinded by the light. He can’t follow the one in his memories on this wide canvas fast enough.

Yuri's wish is surging within him. The phantom he sees right now - _please_ , he can’t take it anymore - the one who occupies his thoughts, his mind, who keeps the wound on his arm fresh with guilt, who teases him with a path he cannot follow -

 

_Guide me, Mother._

 

No sooner does Yuri say this than his vision has the intense feeling of being covered with a wet, transparent cloth. Yuri’s eyes are wide open, transfixed on the wall before him. It is glistening, glimmering, and - shifting, shifting to something else. His eyes swim in a myriad of colors while his breath stops in his throat. The stretch of ice in front of him presents shapes blurry and unclear, and its colors are now changing with unpredictable form.

He makes out the form of hair dancing in a tempest, hair that is connected to skin too pale to show up distinguishable on the ice, skin that belongs to a body that is dancing, different from his memories, but just as wildly, and that body belongs to -


	4. Diversion

He’s surrounded by vivid colors he cannot give name to. His world stands in front of him in the form of mesmeric dances. All around him, there is light. All within him, there is light. And due to this light, he can see so clearly that god.

The outsider is always in fluid motion. Female, he initially thought, but then their dance became slow, and through the cleansing water that fell upon the outsider, Yuri could clearly tell they were a male. Above the outsider is a ceiling of unimaginable brightness, and when the outsider falls to rest with a steady tempo, the sky glitters like nothing Yuri’s ever seen before. The world he is viewing is not one that exists within this prison.

He greedily drinks in all the sights the light presents before him. Nothing else matters now. His path has become clear, he has been guided; Yuri’s eyes become his feet as he hungrily follows the outsider’s movements. Time and time again, the outsider rises far above the ground, ice twinkling and disappearing, footsteps living only by the outsider’s command - and then the outsider descends, whereupon others crowd like snow skins to his trap.

It does not surprise him that there are other humans outside of their prison. Their attires are strange, the environment is unrecognizable; everything is oh-so-foreign, so Yuri decides to concentrate on the only part of the picture that matters.

He sits there with no other care than the world in front of him, and watches. Yuri is content with that. At some point, and what is time, because the only thing he has been tracking is the ice - but the ice is the problem, because at some point, the light dimmed.

_No. Come back._

The ice is dim and out of focus. Yuri moves closer, and clarity of that god returns.

The ice is dim and out of focus. Yuri moves even closer.

The ice is dim and out of focus. Yuri’s breath rests on the ice.

The ice is dim and out of focus.

 

_Come to me,_ the light sings.

 

Yuri is willing to do that. Anything to bring his world back into focus. Grant him his thirst. Let him have just another glimpse. _Please_.

His fingers inch closer.

Yuri is just about to touch the ice when a force yanks him out of this light-filled equilibrium. It feels like a direct blow to his mind; something snaps within him and disappears, and his world spins and crashes. An intense feeling of nausea overtakes him, because suddenly, everything is off-balance. Choking, spluttering, the light that has been residing within him rushes out, and with it leaves the light in his eyes, his ears, his mouth, all of him.

It takes his scrambled eyes a long moment to realize they aren’t looking at the ice anymore. Desperately, he whips his neck upwards, then to the side, then finally, his gaze lands on the ice and

He is screaming. The god is no longer there. All that is reflected is the morning light, the white of the sky, the mass of snow continuously falling, and the… wall of…

He is seated next to the prison wall, and that revelation stuns him. Where has he been? Surely, he was just in a space where all that existed was him, and the image of the god in front of him.

Lost in his frantic thoughts, something sneaks up and takes hold of him. Smoke enters his nostrils, the familiar warmth of flames - disgust surges within him, for surely this means the fire has destroyed his wishes yet _again_. A snarl rises up within him, a foreign sound, but one that feels dreadfully appropriate as he turns to face

The snarl dies in his throat. Yuko’s face peers back at him, smoldering amber, and something other than fire is dark in her eyes. She is frowning, and for the moment, all they can do is stare at one another. The air is filled only with the sounds of their breathing - Yuri’s, heaving; Yuko’s, too silent to hear. It feels like this moment will extend into eternity - a feeling not foreign to him, for wasn’t that what he was just feeling within the light? That he could watch the outsider forever. His world, into eternity. His world, full of light.

The eternity passes as Yuko opens her mouth.

_You were about to go to the light._

Yuri doesn’t understand her words. The light. Which light? No, he recalls now, there was a light that beckoned him - the light fueling the image of the outsider. The light he had called upon the Mother of Light to give him.

He had been about to go to the light?

_Yuri._

He breaks out of his thoughts and brings his gaze back up her eye level.

_Yuri, you were about to die._

He doesn’t understand.

_Yuri, was the Mother of Light kind?_

Was she? Yes, yes she was, she answered his prayers when his own Mother scorned him. She gave him the image of a god to gaze upon.

_Did she guide you?_

Yuri is faintly aware that he is nodding. The Mother of Light had lived up to her reputation. She had guided him to his fascination without a stop along the way.

_The Mother of Light is not kind, Yuri. She guides. And once you have been guided, once her light fully exists within you, she guides you to her. You would have just been light, and nothing more._

Yuko’s voice is slow and soothing. It trickles through his ears, and every added line slowly brings the noise in his ears to a roaring crescendo of realization.

_Did you want to disappear?_

No. No, he can’t disappear. He can’t disappear yet. He’s - it’s not enough for him to sit back like this. Watching that outsider within his prison, looking from a tiny viewing window into a tiny world, that - is not the same as chasing after him.

Yuri - had been about to stop in his path all too early.

For a long while, he does not make a sound. 

Then,

_How did you know I was here?_

Warm arms envelop his body, and Yuko rests her head on his shoulder. Her voice is a murmur, but he hears it clearly.

_You're not as good at hiding things as you think you are._

 

Yuri’s body is still. Then it trembles, and he begins to sob.


	5. Burst

Yuko Nishigori lives with her mother and father next to Yuri’s own family. In times of distress, she finds herself in an encampment a little farther away. Yuri is explained this as he huddles in said encampment, entrapped in her once-more offered blanket. Her voice is calm, her reprimanding over. He sits there, and he is told many things.

_I’ll lead you to the light properly afterwards._

Yuri quietly sits in silence and mulls over her words. Yuko is willing to help him, and so he feels content. But Hasetsu has moved closer to the gates during the time he spent intoxicated by the light. Soon, very soon, they will begin the Festival, which he has never attended. He can offer, so he will take part, unlike previous years where he stayed out of reach of the Festival’s flames and cried with each year’s explosion. Like with his disappearance, Yuko notices his unease, and pats his head. She will guide him through the Festival’s motions, and afterwards -Yuri will learn how to properly watch his outsider, follow his movements - under the watchful eye of Yuko. In her own words,

_I’m older than you, so just listen to me-_

and that’s the end of that.

 

Hasetsu settles at the annual location, where the pines grow, and stands the prison gate. Yuko, with her twice-experienced knowledge, places the dug-up stones in his hands. Through warmth granted to him by the Mother of Fire, heat pulses through his arms, down his body, through his legs, and burns the ground beneath him. The snow melts away drastically, he is covered in a sphere of flame, and he can tell the Mother is still not happy at him, because the flames lash at his hands. He hisses in apology, but continues, because his role this year to help uncover the materials they deposited last year - the great many charcoal stones that they will burn this year’s fruitful offering on.

He stands there thoughtless for merry a while until he catches the scent of burning charcoal, and Yuko pulls him back.

 

It is his first time seeing such varied offerings and bizarre methods of offering. This year, his mother prays to the Mother of Harvest for continued good food, fasting in place as bowl after bowl of soup evaporates into the air. The scent permeates to where his father is praying to the Mother of Hunt. His jovial father stands, ready to release one of the larger snowskins, or so Yuko tells him, and when his father survives its hunt as its prey, prey will come to him in turn.

Although he does not understand why, Yuko prays to the Mother of Light. Even though she nearly killed him, he prays too, for helping him. The guidance stone burns against his hands, his eyes, his sight, telling him to _come home_. The pull is as strong as it was by the prison wall, but he cannot see his god here, and Yuko smiles at him.

 

With all preambles complete, Hasetsu gathers around a blazing sphere. There is an unknown energy in the air, adrenaline riding the bitter wind, wrapping Yuri in unease. It is the Mother of Fire’s turn, and in signal of the start of their worship, Minako Okukawa’s father steps forward. They have formed a circle around the central fire, and Minako’s father is alone as he moves to begin - the, dance?

_Riding the winds_.

There is a sense of deja vu, here, as the older man skillfully weaves between the flames suddenly erupting from underneath him - a strong bird made of ash glass, cleansed in volcanic smoke.

 

Yuri’s reminded of the outsider, high above, now _down below_.

 

They watch in silence, with only the roar of the flames in their ears, and the flames are relentless, chasing after the fleeing dancer. A twist, he disappears. Step. _Leap_. A complex patchwork of steps that Yuri’s eyes cannot keep up with, and neither can the flames, and the central flame belches, growing in size, growing larger, burning more radiantly, threatening to _overspill and capture him but he is avoiding it all_ , and he looks so _sad_ , and

 

He doesn’t understand the emotions present, cannot understand, but he feels something twist within him.

 

_He is within reach, and you can chase after him_.

_He is fleeing the fire, and you can, too._

_You are below, he is above,_

_You can fly_.

 

Yuri is completely engrossed in his own thoughts, paying no attention to the blazing lines forming a cage around them, turning their surroundings into a blazing sphere, of which the core pulses and _breathes_ and tries to capture Minako’s father and _fails_ and grows stronger in its failures, and the fire enters Yuko’s shell, and the fire enters his mother’s shell, and he cannot avoid the fire and it licks at him and invites him to join the unified movements of all the observers who are now joined by nothing but love for one another with fire to entwine their hands and searing heat to keep them moving but _he will soon be able to reach for the gods let him do so now -_

He does not flinch, even when the explosion of the center sphere sets off ringing in his ears; he watches with glazed-over eyes as it breaks free of the fire-cage and pummels into the prison gate, surely, certainly, eating bit by bit into the gate as it is eaten itself. The flaming cage, a catapult that is no longer needed, falls apart. So too does its load, the flaming sphere spluttering into embers and smoke. It fizzles out of existence, and he no longer fears it, for it has created something beautiful.

Yuri licks his lips.

There are no wounds.

There are no cuts.

His tongue tastes the sweetness of his own blood.

An uncontrollable giggle escapes him.

Will he - self combust?

Explode in a geyser of laughter and life blood?

Yuri claws at his smiling face. He cannot stop the smile that arose from tasting blood.

On the outside he is reveling with the others, joining hands with them, dancing around without any direction like fire itself.

On the inside he is screaming from the intensity of it all.

As soon as Minako’s father has stepped away from the offerings, Yuri breaks free of the linked dance, rushes up to him, eyes blazing and flames licking his heart. This is the passion that the Mother of Fire provides spluttering through his breath. He does not care, for the urge has been within him ever since that day in that field, submerged, now whole, and it matters not who brought it to the surface. He does not know what is exactly he is asking for, but the urge makes itself known through his words.

_Please - teach me how to -_ that _,_ _what you have done_.

But Yuri has forgotten, or rather, he did not know, even as the man’s mouth wavers between a frown and smile. Yuko catches up to him, breaking away from Hasetsu to take him back in but instead _takes his hand in hers something is wrong_ , and leads his bewildered self to Minako Okukawa, separate from the rest, burning alone. Her eyes are red, and Yuri thinks to himself that it’s not because of the Mother of Fire.

 

Every year, someone stays behind at the gates, dancing continuously, a continuous blaze, until they are consumed by fire, and become the fire. Then, during the Festival, their flame-consumed soul is launched against the prison gate. Minako Okukawa’s father, this year, danced to let Minako Okukawa’s mother, now a burning mass of pride, melt the prison gate. Little by little, through centuries of Festivals, the prison gate will melt, and they will escape. That is what the Mother of Fire has promised them.

Centuries, and this year, her father will dance in her place. And Minako twists a smile in self-deprecation, and states that she will likely replace her father when _he_ burns for the sake ofHasetsu.

This is the first time Minako Okukawa and Yuri Katsuki have spoken. It is on painful terms, he surely realizes that, but even as her father steps into the charcoal hold, never to be seen again, and her mother melts and fades at the prison gate, and Minako burns her tears,

his heart furiously beats, and his pure-hearted feelings tumble out.

 

She stills, looking up, as if seeing him for the first time. Her eyes are unreadable, even if her face is grief-stricken, for it is those who have disappointed the Mother of Fire who are likely to be offered as dancers for her, or so she says. Yuko is silent, but it seems Hasetsu has decided what kind of part of the system Yuri is, because Minako's lips twist up again, and _it is fine_ , she plainly states, if Yuri learns from her.

 

_Only those not sure of the Mother would find their desperate escape from her beautiful_ , and she stands,

and she takes Yuri’s hand,

and she leads him away from Yuko,

and from her father,

and her mother,

and the Festival,

and from the Mother.


	6. Grow

Minako takes him away to add one final offering prayer - she takes him to the Festival’s fields, where the flames still roar. A stream flows around them, and there is ice embedded in it. The pitter-patter of her steps sounds strange, but they are fluid steps. She waits within the stream, poised to lead.

_Barefoot_ , she murmurs, and Yuri obliges. The burning heat on his soles disappears with his footwear. Yuri pauses, unbalanced, but Minako only quietly shakes her head.

So he steps cautious steps like a toddler into the strange terrain,

and the ice cuts into feet, and he feels so numb, and he falls,

and even as his whirling mind and cheek rest against the ground, he can only think of the inexplicable feeling in his feet.

_You can run back to Mother_ , someone murmurs above him, but he can’t do that. He is here to - escape, and so Yuri pushes himself up, and so Yuri lets the blood flow freely from his feet, and so Yuri stumbles around bizarrely, aeons away from Minako’s own fluid movements.

No warmth emits from his wounds, no familiar flames to scorch his feet, and soon he is slipping in his life-blood, along with everything else; his breath is ragged, _what is this_ , Minako is always a step ahead, a slow pattern landing him upon broken ice with each pause, _it is so very painful_

but through such haze and bewilderment he comes to understand he is offering to the Mother of Dance his blood and his determination. The feeling becomes certain - not in his heart, still clenching in fire, but - as if each of his feet has grown a heart, host to an alien set of emotions than what the Mother provides. As Minako slows to a stop, he feels something come to rest within this feet permanently, and the heat within him hisses and snaps at it.

_You have chosen_ , she murmurs, _there is no turning back now._

Flames are upon his lips, greedily eating the blood drawn from his teeth where he has bit out of pain, and they continue to crawl amongst his sweat and blood as he falls backwards and doesn’t move.

Cheek pressed once more against the ground, flames burning the stream and ice away, he asks why there was no fire involved in the - movements, the steps. Minako frowns and looks away. A hand rests above his head, parting the flames. She makes meaningless gestures to capture the flames in her hands, absentmindedly staring out at something he can’t see.

She’s not associated with any particular Great Mother, Yuri learns; she accepts offerings based on their - environments. She does not require grand fire festivals, and they are entrenched in ice, _but they hold the claim of the Mother of Fire_ , so their is a clash in what is drawn from their environments. Yuri has first channeled such dance through the ice, which the Mother of Fire hates, and to balance it out, he will certainly - be forced to channel the dance through fire, and

_she melts against the prison door_

will one day burn to nothing, like the Okukawa family. Yes, come the Festival, they will spend at least a year dancing in apology with the Mother of Fire, until their soul has completely burned up.

_Don’t you want to leave?_

Minako’s eyes are on him, he feels, but they are connected through mutual feelings now. He can hear her answer, saw her answer as her father resigned himself to his fate.

_In the presence of the Mother of Fire, the dance becomes a channeling of her love for Hasetsu_. Yuri thinks he hears bitterness, even as an onslaught of dizziness washes over him and dulls his senses one by one.


	7. Start

Minako does not speak of her family even once during his time with her. She asks Yuri of his family only once, and he has no answer to give, for he is not sure where he stands anymore. Solid ground melted by flames is replaced by ice cutting into his feet, but after such daily practices are complete, he still stands, lost.

He is no longer residing within Katsuki grounds. With yet another empty seat in the Okukawa family, there is more than enough room for him and Minako both. Yuko does not cut contact with her family as Yuri has, but the Okukawa branch was originally a family of three, and she is welcomed whenever she stops by. This is an everyday occurrence the first month, as Minako does not care much for the Mother of Light, and Yuko is determined to have Yuri offer to her _safely_.

_You wish to achieve - this?_ Minako comments from beside Yuko. The three sit in front of the ice grounds, and Yuko’s flame dome encases them above, making sure no snow coats the fairylike image of the outsider, who is ever in motion.

There is a marked difference between the fleeing, furious dance of the Okukawa family and the blinding, flitting dance of the outsider. Yuri is not the only one intrigued, he finds.

_I want to follow him_ , and Minako understands the deeper meaning. Yuri, perhaps more than anyone in Hasetsu, truly wishes to escape their prison. Minako is unruly and full of resentment, but the will to escape has long since disappeared, no, _died_ , when the last of her family stayed behind to burn alive.

Yuri has no choice _but_ to escape.

The snowskin knife lays abandoned by his father. He is given the warmth to live, survive, and when they inevitably arrive at the prison gate once more, Minako thinks it will surely be _Yuri_ who is - told to, repay, urged to reaffirm that the Mother of Fire is their only, and everyone is one, and this _young boy who is not even ten_ will be gone first and her house will be empty again.

So she continues to teach him all she knows,

the flames lash and leave permanent scars in his skin,

_he burns_ ,

_he dances_.

 

As if sensing his daughter’s distress, Minako Okukawa’s father is found to still be fleeing the Festival’s flames the year they return.

_Good_ , Hasetsu whispers, _he will surely break the prison gate further_.

_Good_ , Minako thinks, _I am not alone yet_.

_Good_ , Yuri decide. _I will survive longer than you_.

 

_Good_ , repeat the years.

_Good_ , state his eyes, watching without fail that outsider.

_Bad,_ Minako is enlightened one day, _Yuri, must not burn_.

_Bad_ , Yuko thinks, stomach twisting even though it is far too late to separate Yuri and the outsider, Yuri and his god, Yuri who now practices dancing more than Minako, unaware that when Minako Okukawa’s father dies, he will take his place, and Yuko cannot stand that, but it is _far too late_ to do anything about it.

_Bad,_ murmurs Hasetsu, _Yuri Katsuki is not one with us_.

_Good,_ thinks Yuri, and he thinks of one thing and one thing only, thoughts unfazed as the familiar sensation of ice cutting his feet becomes his foundation to reach _higher_.


	8. Warning

Minako has not told a soul, even though she surely knows, and Yuri surely knows, and there are tell-tale signs of frost at the edges of his irides and peppermint in his breath. He has fallen into a mad routine of monotony, has stopped caring about the other facets of life, and is surely -

even if he did not intend to -

praying, to the Mother of Ice.

The warmth still exists under his skin, but with such occasional contact with its Mother, it is slowly being smothered.

 

Something is going to break.


	9. Juxtaposition

The years,

pass,

slowly,

surely,

his heart

distances

itself,

from shared warmth,

he watches

the light

unwaveringly,

he jumps higher

tirelessly,

 

and that outsider

slowly,

surely,

approaches their ice prison,

in the year

in which Yuri

is a decade and a half

displaced,

from their first meeting -


	10. Flight

The elders have changed since they last approached him, shivering, wrapped in Yuko’s blanket, protected by his parents from further heat and flame and isn’t _that_ an act of love. The new elders give off the same air, however, and the Okukawa residence receives visitors for the first time since Yuko left with her new husband.

They drop a snowskin in the seldom-used altar, and an uncomfortable warmth fills the grounds.

Minako and Yuri stare unblinkingly. Her fists are clenched. The elders notice, and after pause, move their eyes up to

 

_Yuri Katsuki._

 

He stills.

 

_You will channel the Mother today, and lead Hasetsu out of our prison._

 

He stills.

 

_Your predecessor has given the Mother his all._

 

He stills. Everything is on replay, and does not sink in properly. Their voices overlap.

 

_You have been earnestly working for this We recognize your great love for the Mother and wish that you You will become one with Hasetsu, and we will become Thank you for your service. sincerely convey those feelings and we are certain you will perform one with you, and all of Hasetsu against the Mother of Ice, who traps us so. shall be with you with your life will be ours splendidly. and ours yours and we will burn with you in her love._

 

Everything is on replay, even when the grounds contain no-one but Minako and himself once more, and the altar flickers and dims and dies, and he hears her sigh, and she _knew_.

But there is no time to feel anything except the will to reach him.

But he still loves the Mother of Fire, and she loves him, and she gives him such blood-life to live.

That’s what the elders said. _That’s not quite right_. That’s what his parents said. _You broke off of your own will_. That’s what Hasetsu said. _You don’t really love the Mother of Fire_. That’s what Yuri said on his very first offering. _Why are you here?_

In truth, he knows he would not have noticed that they are now at the prison gates, once again. He knows, he’s aware, Minako Okukawa’s father is a tremendous man, but he has certainly burned up by now, and when they arrive, Hasetsu will see nothing but the Mother’s gift to them to escape. The thick, impenetrable gate, melting a distance and then gaining back that thickness during the snowfall while they are gone.

It is an endless cycle, and one that will chain them to the Mother of Fire for eternity, and Hasetsu _will_ _never escape_. 

He looks up, and Minako is _smiling_. It is sad, it is guilty, it is pained.

_Well, Yuri. Will you be able to reach him?_

If Yuri has only one thing left to hold onto, it is the irrevocable truth that he will reach the outsider.

 

Time is meaningless. Minako Okukawa’s father stands before him, a shell burning tremendously, having fought and danced for _ten years_ to escape the Mother of Fire and this prison and

-now, nothing more than the remains of a stubborn man’s soul, desperate not to let his daughter follow his footsteps, but he needed not worry, because his daughter will survive another year, while _Yuri_ is the one to launch his remains into a gate that will never budge.

The burning soul stands before him.

His future stands before him.

Hasetsu stands around him.

_eyes, eyes, eyes_

His past stands around him.

 

Something is wrong.

 

A sort of gunk is creeping up his throat. Threatening to spill over. Choking him.

His motions and emotions have been stable this entire time, so why now - ?

An overwhelming sense of

 

fear,

 

Hasetsu stands around him.

 

He desperately looks around, but he has avoided all contact with them for far too long.

The elders remain the only faces he recognize. Where are his parents?

Yuko, is there. With her husband. And children. She has given birth to new life. When?

Where are his parents?

He turns.

Minako is over there. She is watching him, and her face is twisted in

 

_despair_ ,

 

Hasetsu stands around him.

 

His feet touch not solid ground, unfamiliar ice shards pierce his feet, a dance he is all too familiar with, now to be enacted in reality and

 

_eyes, all watching me, who are all of you_

 

A unified, singular entity stands around him.

 

_Am I not here am I am I not part of you am I not_

 

It spills out of his peppermint-scented mouth with a disgusting half-warble, his worries known to this entity full of love that _he no longer has_.

Surely, he has felt this madness before.

He unconsciously tries to laugh.

But it has been too long since he last smiled, so.

Something pulls.

Something splits.

Something spills.

He licks his lips.

They are made of cuts.

His body is coated in wounds.

His tongue tastes the sweetness of his own blood.

A phantom escapes his lips.

 

_What - is it?_

 

He’s quivering. Some greater force possesses his shoulders and shakes him. The motions carry to his brain, tossing it around like winds in blizzards, mixing his thoughts together until all he is aware of is the numbness on his lips.

He’s not cold. He is blazing.

His lips are not dry. They are covered in painful, slowly-shifting prickles.

His eyes are not working. Like a poor fire sprung without the Mother, his eyes are spluttering. Drying. Weak. Something is trying to come out. Something that is not allowed is trying to come out. The heat evaporates his eyes.

What should be coating his cheeks cannot, so the flames dance madder on his skin, burning the surface in compensation.

He cannot feel it. All there is is the numbness accompanying his brain thrown into chaos.

The one who is doing this to him, is himself.

_Ah_ , he thinks. Coherence has not returned to him yet. It cannot, not with his shaking limbs and messed up mind.

His subconscious has already arrived at the conclusion.

 

_I—cannot,_

 

The fire will not allow him to cry, so it must smother the source of his reasoning.

The fire splutters off his eyeballs and enters his shaking mouth.

 

_be accepted,_

 

It runs down his throat and clenches his mad heart.

 

_here._

 

He is still blazing. His fire is thrashing, desperately trying to connect with someone, _anyone_.

_Come—back. Love—me. Accept—me—so—I—can—leave—_

The Mother will love him.

_I will love you, as I always have,_ she whispers.

Even now, so long as he is her child coated in her flames, she is here, listening.

The Mother will burn away his existence.

_I will show you the way_ , she croons.

The way to her.

She will return him to the fire, and Yuri Katsuki will stop existing. If he consorts with the Mother of Ice, then this is the only choice he’s allowed.

The Mother will burn the misguided child and allow his death to be a beautiful offering from the village and proof of their love—

He is burning. The flames are eating his heart.

He wants to melt on the spot and become one with the world.

His future stands in front of him, a patient mass of flame, roaring in the face of his fears.

Derisive laughter mixes with his thwarted attempts at sobs.

 

_\- I cannot die here._

 

Although he has been rejected, still, he cannot let himself burn.

His future stands before him.

There is but one reason why he is still living, so he cannot die yet.

The Mother will not kill him if he returns to her right now, so. She will not kill him if he accepts her love and dances her mad dance, so.

He has been rejected, but he will accept her love.

He does not belong here, but he will pay his dues to live here.

If he does not, he will never be able to leave.

As the fires smother his heart in a cocoon and give it peace, he can only think:

 

_How nice would it be - to be free - of everything - and meet that man -_

 

_-_ and he begins.

He begins, but his vision has turned white.

There is nothing around him, and nothing in front of him.

All there is his greatest desire.

_Ah_ , he thinks he hears, sound almost drowned out by the absolute silence within his thoughts.

_You are singular_.

Something is trying to pull him back in.

He moves.

_This is not enough, nor do I care for such destructive distractions._

This is, a different Mother.

His vision is white, but it is slowly being populated once more.

_It is up to you to consolidate, but even you, flame-son, should realize it is impossible_.

Yes. There is an entity around him.

The Mother of Fire exists through Hasetsu.

Hasetsu stands around him.

The Mother of Fire stands around him.

He is calm.

To his left is the Mother of Fire, unintelligible words spilling through the elders’ mouths.

To the right is the Mother of Fire, reaching out to him through the arms of someone he thinks he knows.

Behind him is the Mother of Fire. Behind him is - someone, who is telling him to escape.

 

_I must leave, by any means_.

 

Motion is all around him. The entity is closing in on him. Fire approaches him. His not-future pulses in front of him.

That voice cuts through the motion.

_You can leave._

That’s right. _I can leave_.

The warmth has left him, the only trace flames were ever within him the scars they have left on his body. Completely and utterly, Yuri pushes the Mother of Fire out.

_I am going to leave right now, and reach him_.

_You who does not care for change, you must help me_.

A second that feels like an eternity. Something shifts in the air.

What fills his body - is ice.

A dance to channel the Great Mothers.

It’s cold.

As if the prison itself is connecting with his heart, relentlessly settling into the very depths of it, still, unmoving, uncaring, quenching, building a wall between ecstasy and his quivering emotions.

He feels the wild staccato beating of his body that dances to a frenzied, mad beat - slow down.

Calm down.

Stop-

 

-Still.

 

He breathes.

His heart, surely, has returned to that dazzling day so many years ago.

His heart, which strained to stop, and was pulled along by reigns of blazing fire.

This time, his heart has stopped for good.

 

It feels like he has been in a dream.

With the ice clenching his heart, he feels grounded. Clearheaded.

More so than he has been in a long, long time.

 

And now. Someone has grabbed Yuri’s now-chilled hands. He is not certain as to who. Yet, their hands hold the same warmth as his own, _none at all_ , but understanding perfectly what he means to do.

 

Amidst the roaring flames, the screams of - Hasetsu,the Mother, _whoever it is_ with the cries the laughs the _need to love_ pushing at him, but what cuts through is

an unfamiliar voice, reaching into his ears and

Yuri can _hear_.

 

“Stay close to me.”

 

Hand clasped in hand, and it is not only his hands, but _someone_ is there with him, guiding him along the steps of a dance he has seen countless times, yet never achieved, except now he _is_ and he is rising high above and _Yuri opens his eyes._

 

Hasetsu burns below him.

Minako Okukawa’s soul burns below him.

The Mother of Fire burns below him.

He searches her for familiar faces, and cannot see any. Hasetsu has become one.

 

They have become one, merged together by a Mother furious at the treachery of her child.

 

He is spinning through the air, strung along by the movements of someone unseen but certainly felt, and even amongst the dizzying movement lifting him higher and _higher_ , he watches below.

 

The final push, the final rejection,

 

which leaves his mouth like sparkles of ice, glittering remains of someone who is dancing in the sky,

 

which Hasetsu can reach for all they want, but will forever be unable to reach, and now he can reach it all, so

 

“-Goodbye, Hasetsu-“

 

and the Mother of Ice consumes his being, encases him in ice, a conduit surely overloaded but bearing it all out of sheer determination, and it floods through his being, and falls below, and it falls below,

 

and Hasetsu is buried,

 

and the Mother of Fire is buried,

 

as a hole opens in the ceiling and collapses from above, and the prison gate creaks and falls apart,

 

and the flames below are quenched,

 

fizz out,

freeze,

still,

with only silence

left

behind,

now forgotten, as the _outsider_ , grasping his hands tightly, leads him in a flitting dance higher and higher, out of the prison,

and into the blinding, dazzling, gleaming, sunset-ridden view,

all colors outside of grey and blue present,

and all warmth buried far beneath.


End file.
